


And Promise Me This (Just Maybe I’ll Come Home)

by tameimpala



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Case Fic, Descriptions of Injury, Gen, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Series, Protective John Winchester, Protective Sam Winchester, References to Torture, Teen Winchesters, Wordcount: 5.000-10.000, Young Dean Winchester, Young Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-03-21
Packaged: 2018-03-10 22:24:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3305555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tameimpala/pseuds/tameimpala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“It isn't like Dean not to keep contact, you know that, let alone not show up on his birthday..."</i>
</p><p>  <i>"... Sometimes promises get broken Sammy." </i></p><p>John sent Dean out on his first solo hunt in a different State to them only a few days from his birthday and he hasn't heard anything from him in three days. Sam is adamant they go and find him when his birthday finally arrives but his father gives Dean till the end of the night- after all he did promise Sammy he would be back on the 24th...</p><p> <span class="small">Pre-Series: Dean's turning 19 and Sam is 14</span></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ******Recently edited- not original version*******
> 
>  
> 
> Takes place in 1998 if my calculations are correct, I'm not the best at maths. Also I hope the geography is right- forgive me if it's not- I'm not from America :) 
> 
> Title taken from lyrics from the song [Promise by Ben Howard](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xjg0Ip7TzzM)

_**Altoona, Pennsylvania** _

It was 4 o’clock when Sam rolled in, the usual dull thud of his book-laden bag hitting the floor announced his arrival. In no time at all he made it to the small kitchen of the rundown apartment that the Winchesters had been renting for a month, his eyes scanned the room, hoping to see a beat up leather jacket and dirty blond hair.

“He’s not here Sam.” John said without looking up from his newspaper, his dark focused eyes scanning for possible jobs.

“But he said…”

“Yes he did, but obviously the hunt isn’t finished yet and Dean will stay there till the job is over." He turned the page of his crinkled copy of the Altoona Mirror, "Sometimes promises get broken Sammy.”

Unlike his older brother, Sam was not easily placated by their father. He stubbornly dragged one of the unstable wooden chairs out from under the table, sat down heavily and stared at John expectantly. The eldest Winchester braced himself for one of the inevitable _‘heated discussions’_ that his 14 year old was so fond of having.

“Dean’s never missed his birthday before and he hasn't called in 3 days Dad.” Retorted Sam in a sanctimonious tone that he knew would irritate his father.

John sighed heavily and finally tore his eyes away from the newspaper to look at his son, “Look Sam, he could be making his way here right now. Don’t call it too early…”

“No he’s supposed to call every night! I've let you put me off for days just because Dean said he’d make it back for his birthday, and today is his birthday if it hasn't escaped your notice!”

“Of course it hasn't!” John gave Sam a warning glare at that the suggestion that he had forgot what day it was that would make any other person turn tale and run.

But Sam didn't listen or take any notice, he only carried on with his tirade, “It isn't like Dean not to keep contact, you know that, let alone not show up on his birthday. We should be doing what I wanted to do on Tuesday night, heading out to Ohio to find him. He could be in real trouble Dad! Why don’t you care?”

John stood up and stared down at his youngest son. He didn't need to be told this. As soon as Dean missed the first phone call he had been sick with worry. This was the first time he had sent Dean on a solo hunt in a different state to them before- though to be honest it was only around 150 miles away and just the next state over, not the other side of the county (even if it felt like it). However his eldest son had been under strict orders to call every day. Hundreds of scenarios had ran through John’s mind since Dean missed that first phone call on Monday, each one worse than the last. So when Sam had suggested three days prior that they should go and find him, John had nearly jumped to the task. However he'd stopped himself because he knew that he had to give his son the benefit of the doubt, it was only a poltergeist he was hunting after all. Dean had to learn to take care of himself, no matter the consequences. John knew that he wouldn't always be around to bail his boys out.

Still, he wasn't going to sit here and let Sam accuse him of not even caring when he had been in constant state of fear and worry over Dean since he stopped making contact.

“Listen to me Sam. You know how unpredictable hunting can be, Dean could have simply got sidetracked or found the job to be more complex than he first thought. He told you he’d try his best..."

"- he _promised._ " Interrupted Sam.

"Alright..." _God this kid could be exasperating when he wanted to,_ John thought to himself. He wondered if Sam knew how much he reminded him of himself in these moments, with both of them being as stubborn as mules it was really no surprise why they argued so much. But with no Dean here to play referee, the older hunter had to remember to keep his temper in check. "Dean promised to be here today ... So, we are going to give your brother till the end of the night to get home.” Replied John slowly, his eyes never leaving Sam’s face.

His youngest's equally dark eyes simply looked back into his own defiantly.

“And what if he doesn’t come back?”

“Then we’ll find him.”

 

 

  


 

* * * * * * *

 

 

  


 

**Warren, Ohio  
Three days earlier**

This poltergeist was a sick son of a bitch if the marks that where left on that kid where anything to go by. 

He had visited Oliver Johnson in hospital, couldn't be that much younger than Sammy. Dean hadn't really got much out of him as he was still badly traumatized by the attack, but the boy had shown him his injures with a little persuasion. The boy was still shaking like a leaf as he very slowly pulled up his t-shirt to reveal angry red scratches littering his back, the deepest ones spelling out one word: _**mine**_ **. In addition to deep scrapes Dean had also noticed the purple bruises circling Oliver's ankles, altogether it seemed to be a pretty standard poltergeist attack.**

His parents had told him that it had sounded like their son had been thrown and dragged through the house. They had caught him just before he was pulled into the basement, by then he was already unconscious.

_That thing was so dead._

He glanced at his cell phone, wondering whether to call home or not. Deciding to wait until he returned to the motel after the hunt was over, he placed it in his duffel along with the rest of his supplies and headed over to the Johnson’s house. Oliver’s parents had told him at the hospital that their son had been looking through an old wooden chest of his grandfather’s when the attacks had started. Dean knew for certain that something in that chest had disturbed the poltergeist. He planned to torch the entire thing then head back to Pennsylvania where Sammy and his father where stationed with time to spare. Quick, easy and simple.

Once Dean arrived the Johnston’s house he was surprised at how normal it looked. In his line of work he’d come to expect the typical _Hammer House of Horror_ … But this place was too white bread…

The house can’t have been over 10 years old, if that, not normally the type of place that would attract a poltergeist. Dean checked the address he’d scrawled down on the motel’s notepad… _43 Clarence House Road_ … Looked like he was in the right place.

Sighing, he jumped out of the car and grabbed his stuff. The young hunter just wanted this job to be over quickly and efficiently, after all he had promised Sam that he’d be back on his birthday. Back at the hospital Mrs. Johnson had mentioned that they were staying at her sisters, _“We’re not stepping a foot back into that place until it’s sold.”_ , so he knew he wouldn't be disturbed.

It was simple enough to break into the house after he cut the alarm, he laughed at just how easy it was, these people think they're so safe with their high-tech alarm systems... But one cut through some wire, use a lock pick on the door and you're practically granted free entry. Anyone could just walk in, _"I mean, can you imagine if I was a psychopath?"_ chuckled Dean under his breath. 

Whilst he headed up to the attic for some reason he just couldn't shake the feeling that something was off about this job… Why would the poltergeist only appear only after the chest was opened? Surely it was haunting house? Shouldn't it have been acting up _way_ before Oliver touched the chest? 

Dean shook his head and firmly put aside his doubt, his father had told him it was a poltergeist, and he trusted his father over his own instinct- after all, that's what he'd been trained to do. Even though John Winchester wasn't here, Dean still heard his voice in his head, clear as a bell. After pulling down the hatch, he climbed the attic ladder and pulled out his flashlight.

He scanned the dusty room from corner to corner and finally he spotted a large wooden chest hidden behind the clutter of homeware boxes and discarded toys that Oliver had obviously grown out of. The chest was easily the oldest thing in the entire house by a long shot, so much so that its very presence was off-kilter. Nevertheless Dean found himself being drawn to it, there was no doubt in his mind that it was harnessing some serious mojo.

Pushing aside cardboard boxes and some old mountain bikes, Dean knelt in front of the chest, a sense of trepidation rising in him steadily as he looked at the timeworn trunk. His hand undid the unbolted hinge lock and he braced himself for the fallout that would inevitably happen once the thing was opened.

Taking a deep breath he pulled open the heavy lid of the solid oak chest with a groan... 

Nothing happened. And after waiting a few more moments for the poltergeist to put in an appearance Dean felt himself relax a little at the no-show. He turned his flashlight's glare into the chest and his eyes traced the strange symbols that where carved into the wood, symbols that seemed familiar to Dean but he couldn't quite place them… In the middle of the container were four human teeth surrounded by what looked like dead flowers.

This was strange even for him.

Dean grabbed the lighter fuel and matches out of his bag, sooner this was over the better. However when he turned back to the chest he saw something that made his stomach drop.

The flowers were suddenly in bloom. _And they were covered in blood._

Without thinking Dean raised the lighter fuel but it flew out of his hand and out of sight. He didn't have a chance to reach for his shotgun before his ankles where pulled out from beneath him. His head collided with the edge of the chest as he fell forward, causing his vision to swim.

The temperature had dropped significantly in the room, it was a goddamn spirit this whole time. Again Dean lunged for his shotgun but instead he was dragged across the rough floorboards to the center of the attic. An invisible force held him down.

He could feel a new presence in the room.

Dean raised his head to see a woman staring down at him with a sinister smile on her face that was made all the more creepy by the four teeth she was missing. In life Dean got the feeling that she would have been quite beautiful, but in her current state she looked downright disturbing. The woman’s golden hair was matted at the edges and looked as though a few chucks of it had been pulled out, mascara ran down her face and deep crimson lipstick was smudged around her mouth, giving her the look of a demented clown. Blood drenched her dainty 1940’s dress and ran down her legs. She shook where she stood, her hands clenching and unclenching. Dean’s first thought was that he really didn't want this crazy bitch anywhere near him.

“Davey? You came back?” Came a sickly sweet voice, a voice that made him want to vomit.

“Hate to break it to you darling but I’m not Davey.” Dean replied bitterly, he was currently trying to struggle out of the hold she had him in.

A smell of rotten flowers suddenly overwhelmed his senses and in a split second the woman was on top of him, her blood-shot coffee brown eyes boar into Dean’s skull as her finger nails dug painfully into his forearms.

“ _Liesss...._ ” She hissed venomously, her putrid breath assaulted his senses, “You’ve been out at that whore’s house again haven’t you!?” The woman’s hand suddenly came crashing down on his cheek then settled on his throat.

“I told you,” Dean choked out as she squeezed with an iron grip, “I’m not him!”

“Stop it!” The spirit cried, her face contorted with inhuman rage, “Don’t think I don’t know where you’ve been! And don’t think I’m letting you out of my sight again!”

Just as the last air was escaping Dean’s lungs she let go, he spluttered and gasped for breath. He tried to turn away from her but the ghost's ice cold hands were at his face again. However this time she was gently caressing his hair and shushing him lovingly.

“There there baby, don’t worry.” She whispered in his ear, “I’m just going to teach you a lesson, might take a while, I know how stubborn you are… But you’ll learn… You’ll learn that you’re mine...”

With those words the spirit disappeared from view and Dean dared to sit up. He got to his knees before his whole body was catapulted up to the roof and back down to the floor again. Dean let out a howl as he landed on his front and felt at least two ribs crack under him. He could only raise his head a fraction but he saw two dead wild eyes staring back at him, inches from his own.

“Come on Sugar, let’s go and play!” She giggled hysterically whilst Dean’s ankles where yanked backwards and he sped towards the attics hatch.

He fell through the hole, smashing his already battered head on one of the steps of the metal ladder that he had ascended up only five minutes ago. The hard landing onto the Johnson's meticulously polished parquet flooring made the pain in his ribs sing with agony. The young hunter was losing consciousness, darkness crept into the corners of his vision. He knew he had seconds before he passed out, just like Oliver had. But Dean knew that this time he would make it to the basement, no parents where around to save him.

The last thing he heard before falling into oblivion was the spirit’s maniacal chant of _“....you’re mine Davey, you’re **MINE** , you are mine”_

 

 

" _mine always..._ "

 

  


 


	2. Chapter 2

Sam had tried multiple activates to occupy himself whilst he waited for his brother. He had completed his Math and Spanish homework in record time, which Dean would have probably teased him relentlessly for if he was here. After watching the news on their busted up TV he had cooked some leftover hot dogs for himself and John. When his father had finished with the newspaper Sam used the comics to wrap up Dean’s present with great care. He couldn't afford anything good, much to Sam’s annoyance, as he didn't want to resort to stealing, even though he knew his brother had given him plenty of stolen gifts in the past. 

He had bought a car polishing kit from a mechanic’s garage down the road and he was pretty sure Dean was going to love it. Their Dad wasn't big on presents, the last one he gave was the Impala herself when Dean got his license and Sam knew nothing could ever top that. Though he thought that the amulet he had given his brother on Christmas day when he was eight and Dean was twelve came a close second, as he hadn't taken it off his neck in seven years.

Finally, after he had exhausted every activity, Sam went and sat on the worn avocado colored couch with Dean’s wrapped present in his lap and watched the door. He must have looked pretty pathetic judging by the way his father looked at him when he came into the living room, but that was the effect Sam was going for.

“You don’t have to wait by the door Bud, it’s only 7 o’clock.” John said softly, as if trying to bribe a stubborn six year old.

“Well I have nothing else to do, seen as though you won’t go and look for him.” He replied venomously.

“I’m only saying it’ll be late when he gets back.”

“- _if_ he gets back.” Sam corrected.

John dragged his hand across his face in exhaustion, “Look Sammy..”

“No. Don’t try to reason with me. Something bad’s happened to Dean, I just know it. And you know it too. You’re just trying to convince yourself he’s going to come back on his own because you can’t bear to think of the alternative! Dad I’m begging you, let’s just go to Warren and find out. What is there to lose? If he’s okay we can just celebrate what’s left of his birthday together! If he’s not…”

Sam didn't want to finish that sentence. They both knew deep down that the odds were that Dean wouldn't be okay. Something must have gone wrong for there to be radio silence from him because no matter what, Dean followed orders. John knew this better than anyone, as he was the one who had turned his son into a soldier in the wake of his mother’s death. His robbery of Dean’s childhood was something he grieved for along with Mary herself.

John looked at Sam square in the eyes and saw all of his own worry and fear reflected there. He couldn't deny the apprehension he felt too, and he couldn't not give in to his pleading son.

Slowly John nodded his head.

In a split second Sam was up and gathering their hunting equipment and bags.

 _Those Goddamn puppy dog eyes…_ John thought to himself as he moved to help Sam pack up. 

But he’s right. 

_He always is._

 

  


 

* * * * * * *

 

  


 

** Warren, Ohio  **

He could see the faint light of the day fading away through his eyelashes. 

_Happy Birthday Dean- this one is definitely up there with the greats._

He willed himself to open eyelids that felt a hundred times heavier than usual.

The room was empty. _For now._

Dean supposed she had worn herself out after he had received his birthday present, A.K.A a blunt rusty knife carving into his skin. He'd silently cursed the wooden handle that prevented the spirit from touching the iron blade that easily cut his own flesh. Anyway, it was not like she knew it was his birthday, she didn't even know Dean was Dean. For three days now he had been _‘Davey’_.

His entire body ached as he lifted his head a fraction to view the damage that had been done today. She hadn't restrained him, there was no need to really, Dean was too weak to get off the iron work bench he had been placed on and had been drifting in and out of consciousness. As he shifted slightly, his stomach let out a low growl of hunger.

Yesterday she had appeared with an unidentifiable moldy object and some grungy looking water. With a huge proud smile on her face she had lifted Dean’s head up and poured the awful tepid liquid down his throat. He choked and spluttered but he drank it all- unsure when he would get some again. The food was a different story though, he nearly vomited just from the smell of it alone. No matter how hungry he was, he wasn't eating that. But the ghost had hold of the back of his head and was forcing the rotten food into his mouth. Dean disobediently kept his mouth closed, and she wasn't happy. The four fingernails that were now missing from his left hand certainly made that clear.

The incident the other day had made him think though, the ghost obviously didn't want him dead if she was trying to feed him. No, she wanted to keep him, to punish him. Punish him for crimes he hadn't even committed, not that she was aware of that. As far as she was concerned he was _‘Davey’_ and Dean had a feeling this was the only reason she was keeping him alive, so he had stopped correcting her.

He moved his bruised arms back so he could rest on his elbows and prop himself up. His ribs screamed in protest, but he had to take advantage of her absence. Dean’s left arm hit against something attached to the table and he looked down to see a vice. Thank god she hasn't used that yet, he thought to himself, but something told him she was working up to it.

Every bone in his body ached, he was pretty sure that at least three ribs and his right ankle where broken. He had made an escape attempt last night and she had responded by ‘hobbling’ him. When she had uttered that (aptly) bone-chilling word Dean had had a horrible vision of her using a sledge hammer à la Annie Wilkes, but she had simply unceremoniously stamped on his right foot with inhuman strength and force. Dean had screamed along with the sickening crack that issued from his foot. 

Later he realized that she had been long dead before that movie came out. However there was no doubt he was in a _Misery_ situation of his own...

 

  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit short and text heavy in Dean's P.O.V but next chapter will have more action I think. By the way if you haven't read or watched _**Misery** _ before I highly recommend it, it's an often overlooked Stephen King tale!


	3. Chapter 3

Usually when Sam was stressed out, the dull comforting growl of the Impala’s engine would calm him down. It was the only lullaby he had ever known growing up, that and his brother’s voice. But both of those two consoling factors were missing, in their place were his father and this corpse of a rusty truck that he was borrowing from Bobby. Though from Sam’s recollection Bobby had only lent it to him for 3 weeks. In October. It was now January. 

Sam really wasn’t at all surprised that John had a _'bit of a falling out'_ with just about anyone he had ever met.

They had been on the road now for around two hours and they had barely said a word to each other. As much as he wouldn't want to admit it to anyone, Sam was actually happy for once that his father was playing some of his mullet rock cassettes. Out of the determined silence Robert Plant’s pleading voice drifted in…

  
_“I’ve only been this young once,_  
_I never thought I’d do anybody no wrong,_  
_No not once…”_  


Sam glanced over at his father. John’s eyes were glued to the road, his knuckles clutching onto the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles where turning white. He felt guilty for suggesting that his father didn’t care about Dean, he could see the internal battle that he’d been going through all week. This was Dean’s first solo hunt in a different place to them and Sam was pretty sure John really wanted to give his brother the chance to pull it off. Despite this there was no denying that the hunt must have gone askew or had become complicated at the very least.

John was pushing the shuddering truck as far as he could without speeding so badly that they earned a cop car on their tail. They couldn’t afford that- not with Dean… 

No. He’ll be fine.

_You don’t honestly believe that do you?_

If you keep telling yourself he is, maybe you’ll start to.

 

  


 

* * * * 

 

  


 

** Warren, Ohio  **

The night was really starting to set in, the comforting orange glow was fading into numb unfeeling black. Droplets of sweat budded on Dean’s brow. It had taken most of his remaining strength to sit upright on the workbench that was stained with blood- _his_ blood. 

The recently turned 19 year old was surprised at how much of it there was. Since he took that swan dive from the attic, he was sure he had a concussion as he couldn’t remember enduring most of the precise calculated wounds that littered his torso. However he couldn’t exactly feel thankful for small mercies, Dean may have a limited recollection of receiving the older wounds but he sure as hell could feel them now. The more recent slashes that he had received from a corroded butcher’s knife where especially painful and itchy. One deep cut above his abdomen had begun to weep pus as he moved, but he continued to lower himself off the table despite all of his injuries singing a symphony of agony.

His left foot reached the floor and after ten minutes of gritted teeth and sweat, the rest of his body was too. At a slow crawl, with his right ankle carefully elevated, he started to make his way towards the stairs once more. 

Labored breaths echoed round the basement as exhaustion was getting the better of him. Dean closed his eyes for a second to regain his composure and his breath. However the instant he felt the temperature drop he regretted doing so. _No no no no not this soon I’m not even half way please I need to get out, for Sammy, please...._ With fear building in his gut, he reluctantly reopened his eyes.

Two bloodshot copper orbs glared down at him, glittering with madness.

“What you doing all the way down there lover?”

Her bony hand shot out with lightning speed and clutched around Dean’s throat. She pulled him up to her eye level, the spirit's rancid breath and now familiar scent rotten flowers turned his stomach.

“You’re not trying to leave me again are you Davey?” She asked in her simpering sugary voice.

“No, no of course not. I-I was just…” Dean’s eyes darted around the increasingly darkening room “I just was looking for a l-lights-s-switch, it’s nearly n-night.” He choked out as he grasped at the hand squeezing his windpipe- willing it to let go. 

She dropped him casually onto the floor. In the abruptness of it Dean didn’t have time to prepare and calculate the drop to protect his ankle. A horrifying scream issued from his mouth before he could even stop it as a wave of white hot pain swept through this leg. Bile rose in his throat. A cloud of agony absorbed him whole. Dean resisted the urge to curl around himself like a wounded animal.

It was only then he realized that she was shushing him softly in addition to her dead hands cupping his face.

“There there darlin’. I know, I know it hurts. But you need to learn, don’t you? You need to learn that you’re mine and there’s no getting away from me.” She wiped away the moisture collecting under Dean’s eyes and looked at him with nauseating pity and love. 

All his self-preservation instincts went out of the window as something inside him finally snapped.

_Oh I am so sick and tired of playing along with this friggin’ psycho._

He shook his head savagely out of her grasp and glared at her with such intense hatred that she actually jumped back as if she'd been electrocuted.

“Listen to me you crazy. Fucking. _Bitch_. I’m not your precious Davey, he’s dead okay? Long gone. And so are you. In fact I wouldn’t be surprised if good old Davey wasn’t the one to kill you in the first place. You've probably always been one one egg short of a dozen, a goddamn maniac in life and death!” Shouted Dean into the spirits shocked skeletal face. His throat felt like sand paper and every word he spat caused him more pain, but he couldn't stop himself from hurling the words at her like machine gun fire. 

Silence stretched across them as they both stared at each other. Dean suddenly started to fear the repercussions of his outburst as the woman’s bottom lip began to tremble in bubbling rage. 

Her face contorted into a terrible red snarl.

“You’ll pay for that," Her lips curled into a snarl, _"Darling."_ ”

 

  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise Sam and John will get to Dean next chapter! But I don't know what state he'll be in, I'm evil I know- Dean always ends up hurt in my fics. I have a problem.
> 
> The song John and Sam are listening to is [In my time of Dying by Led Zeppelin](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yZgblTKscX0) -I'm all too aware of the episode that references this song. Am I foreshadowing? Or do I just really like that song? Time will tell (I don't even know guys).


	4. Chapter 4

It was 10:42 pm when John’s ( _Bobby’s_ ) GMC 1500 rolled into the Warren Retreat Motel’s parking lot. Led Zeppelin was still blasting through the stereo to block out their combined unease. The comfortably distracting music and hum of the engine vanished as John switched off the ignition, leaving both himself and Sam in complete silence. 

Through the reception’s window they could see a balding bespectacled man watching TV with his feet propped up on the table, half asleep. John stared at him carefully, as if sizing him up. After a few seconds he reached across his son and into the glove compartment, with a bit of fumbling around he finally grabbed his fake FBI badge. 

“Stay in the car Sammy.” Said John in an authoritative tone, one he knew Sam would ignore anyway.

“What?! No, I’m coming in with you!” Replied the boy predictively as he quickly undid his seatbelt.

John put a hand out to stop him, “Listen to me Sam, you’re in this now- I get it. And you want to help, but you need to follow my orders tonight. We don’t know what’s happened to your brother and if he’s in a bad… situation… you have to do what I tell you son.” He looked down at Sam imploringly, the kid still looked so young.

“Besides, I don’t have a badge for you.” John quipped, and he was glad to see a small smirk on his youngest’s face.

“Alright, but be quick.” Muttered Sam as John headed to the motel’s reception. 

The door opened with a ceremonious electronic beep which made the man behind the desk jump. He moved his feet and adjusted his glasses in an attempt to look more businesslike.

“I’m afraid we’re fully booked sir.” He apologized.

“I’m not looking for a room.” Said John as he moved forward and flashed his badge, causing the man to sit up even straighter, “You had a James Keenan stay here recently?” At least Dean had told him the alias he had been using.

The man’s face changed to a look of annoyance, “Sadly yes.” He flicked through his guest book, “Arrived 5 days ago. Couldn’t have been much older than 19 years old, but he said he was paying cash and he paid the deposit too, so I gave him a chance- seemed like a good kid. Booked out a room till Tuesday… saw him leave 3 days ago, then he never showed up to check out. When the maids went in to clean they found all this- this weird stuff pinned to the walls. Pages about ghosts and house hauntings… must have been a conspiracy theorist nut or something.”

“You still got his belongings?” John asked.

“Yeah, just in case he comes back.”

“I’ll be taking those.” He told him in a monotone voice.

“Oh. S-Sure Agent.” Stammered the man as he bent down to retrieve a cardboard box from under the desk.

John made his way back to the car with Dean’s stuff, which mostly looked like paperwork. Dean hadn’t been abducted from the motel, he had learnt that much. The hunter didn’t know whether to feel relieved or not.

When he got back into the truck Sam’s face fell at the sight of the box.

“He’s not there?” Rasped the 14 year old. Though he had barely dared to dream that his father would return with Dean, Sam still couldn’t stifle the glimmer of hope he felt. That hope was fading quickly.

“This will help us find him, Sam.” John reassured him, pulling out the paper and then handing the box to Sam. 

Whilst the older hunter leafed through Dean’s research, Sam looked through the few items rattling around at the bottom of the cardboard box which was marked ‘ _JAMES KEENAN_ ’ in an infuriated pointy scrawl. 

There was a silver knife and 3 poker chips, along with an unopened packet of M&Ms and a bracelet. He pulled out Dean’s Walkman and opened it to reveal a Led Zeppelin tape, _Houses of the Holy_ , which his father had ironically been searching for just an hour earlier. Sam smirked little, but the smile soon left his face when he realized how morbid searching through this stuff was. It was like looking through someone’s belongings after they had died. Sam had to resist the urge to throw the box out of the window at the thought. Before he could though, his father spoke.

“He was looking for a poltergeist, but all his research on this house… relatively new build, only one owner, no violent history. Doesn’t really add up. Looks more like a ghost to me, a ghost tied to something inside the place.” John ranted to himself as he flicked through the ripped out book pages and notes. He didn't voice out loud to Sam that he was the one who had told Dean that it was definitely a poltergeist when he sent him off on the case, knowing that his son would just heap more blame on top of him- he already felt bad enough. 

“Do you know the address of the house?” Asked Sam.

“Dean’s got a photocopy of the deeds right here.” John replied, holding up the sheet.

“Well, let’s find out then.”

 

# **________________________________________**

 

As soon as they pulled up on the excruciatingly normal street they spotted it parked in a driveway, sticking out like a saw thumb. The only stable home they’d ever had…

_The Impala._

John pulled in behind it and Sam nearly leapt out of the car. John quickly got hold of his jacket and pulled him back in.

“What the hell Dad!? Dean’s in there! What are you waiting for?” Yelled Sam as he struggled against his father.

“Sam- SAM! Calm down for a second and listen would you?” Demanded John desperately. Reluctantly Sam stopped fighting against him and gave him a livid glare, his lip twitching as John spoke to him.

“We need to do a sweep of the house, check the alarms and any visible damage. Going in there, running around, screaming for Dean, is not going to end well for any of us. And honestly…” He sighed, “I’m not sure you should be going in there at all.”

“What? Why the hell not?”

John didn’t want to say it, it hurt so bad just thinking it. 

“It’s been three days Sammy. There might be- Dean might-” He stuttered.

“No.” Replied Sam in unwavering voice, tears shinning in his eyes, “Don’t you dare say it.”

“I just don’t want you to see…”

“STOP IT! We’re getting him back, and there’s no way I’m staying here!” Broke in Sam, staring at his father with determination in his eyes. He drew strength from his son’s point blank refusal to think that Dean may be already gone. 

John breathed in heavily, “Alright, I understand.”

Sam knew that that was the closest John Winchester would come to a yes and as soon as he finished his sentence, Sam darted out of the truck to the trunk, pulling out their equipment as the older hunter ran to join him. Once they were ready, John turned to him.

“You stay close and cover me, and try to do as I tell you.” He said to his youngest, who nodded back- his eyes on the house.

John spotted the cut alarm wires by the window and tested the door. It was locked. He motioned to Sam to hand him the lock pick and it took a second for the door to swing open on its own accord. 

John and Sam looked at each other.

“That can’t have been you.” Said Sam nervously.

Their flashlights tracked the visible damage inside the house. On the upstairs hallway lay the attics broken hatch, John followed a thin trail of blood and dragged boot marks down the stairs and into one of the back rooms. He walked forward with Sam following behind, their guns raised, into the room that turned out to be the kitchen. The blood and boot trails stopped outside what looked to be a door to the basement.

“He’s in there.” Whispered John, his hand shaking slightly as he pushed open the heavy door.

They descended down the stairs, flashlights darting frantically and their guns poised and ready. 

It was a large basement, mostly full of hardware and antiques. There were two work benches towards the far end of the room. One was littered with tools, the other was stained with a dark crimson liquid that John didn’t want to think about.

Sam’s light fell on something unmoving in the corner, something bloody and pale…

“DEAN!!” Roared Sam, he surged forwards, pushing his father roughly aside and into the basements solid brick wall as he ran to his brother.

“SAM NO!” John shouted as he swung back around just in time to see a female spirit appear directly in front of Sam wielding a bloody rusty knife.

“GET DOWN!”

The 14 year old threw himself to the floor, barely missing her wild swipe. John quickly fired a salt round at her and she vanished with a squeal.

Sam was already crawling to his shirtless unmoving brother, half sobbing.

“Dean… D-Dean?”

John descended the stairs and ran to his sons, but the spirit once again materialized- only this time she was behind Dean. She glowered at Sam, who was nearly in touching distance to his brother, with wide unhinged eyes, her hands digging in to Dean’s shoulder possessively.

“ _Mine._ ” She hissed at Sam angrily. 

John didn’t have a clean shot. Before he could move, Sam was suddenly thrown into him and they both went tumbling to the ground.

He looked up to see the ghost smiling at them with a foul pleased grin as she stroked Dean’s dirty hair. John Winchester had never felt such intense hatred before. _This bitch is never going to let us near him._

They had no idea what the spirit was latching onto and they didn’t have time to find out. John’s last resort was a banishing spell that he had heard Bobby recount once or twice before when they had been dealing with some tricky sons of bitches. He knew it was only temporary, but he had no other options. 

Pulling the slightly dazed Sam behind him, John racked his brains for the spell and cleared his throat…

 

_“Spiritus hoc nunc et derelinquam vos et ego,  
Castimoniam dicimus,  
ab hoc loco tuam absque macula!”_

 

John bellowed the verse at the spirit and the effect was instantaneous. A deep purple cloud engulfed the woman as she screamed in agony and she was gone. But John knew she wouldn’t be for long.

Before he could even make a move towards Dean, Sam was by his side in two seconds. Tears sprang in his eyes as he saw his youngest pull his brother’s unresponsive body up into his lap.

“Dean… Come on, De'n… Wake up for me please…” Sam whispered, shaking Dean gently.

John arrived next to them and placed his hand on his eldest son’s neck, looking for a pulse. 

 

_Come on God, please…_

 

_Just give me this._

 

_Don’t take him._

 

Then he felt it. It was weak, but it was there.

“Sam- Sammy, he's still with us.” He choked out, and Sam nearly fainted with relief. 

John moved his hand to softly tap Dean on his cheek, “Hey, open your eyes for us son...”

After a few moments Dean’s hand twitched beneath Sam’s and slowly his eyelids started to open. The bright green eyes that lay beneath them darted everywhere before they found his father and brother.

“H-Happy birthday, r-right?” Dean groaned with a weak chuckle, and Sam let out a sob.

“Don’t you _ever_ do that again.” He spluttered as John checked Dean over, cataloging his injuries.

His son’s face was littered in bruises, small cuts- probably inflicted with fingernails, and there was a large yellowing bump on his temple. Purple bruises which ran around his neck stood out in sharp contrast to the deathly pallor of Dean’s skin. But easily the worst was his chest, there was a horrific looking wound just above his abdomen which was defiantly infected. There were also three other irritated looking slashes around his torso, along with deep bruising, other lacerations and something that deeply disturbed him… With what again looked to have been carried out with fingernails, was the word _MINE_ scratched into Dean’s stomach.

“Quite n-number s-she pulled on me, huh?” Dean choked as he watched his father.

“You’ll be fine, we’ll get you out- don’t worry.” Sam soothed, his hand still gripping his brothers like a lifeline.

“It’s not me I-I’m worried about S-Sammy.” Smiled Dean.

“Okay, lets get him up.” John started to move Dean, wary of how much time they had, “Do you think you can walk buddy?”

Dean weakly shook his head and gestured to his foot, “M-My ankle.”

The hunter looked down and swollen mess of a right ankle which was struggling against Dean’s filthy jeans. John got out his pen knife and cut the cuff to release the pressure and Dean groaned in pain.

“Sorry Son, you’ll thank me later.” Apologised John, but he shifted his injured son slightly so he could see his face, “Dean, what was she haunting?” He didn’t want to ask him too many questions- but this was important.

“Really Dad? Now? We have to get him to a hospital!” Sam riled at him.

“I need to know!”

“Chest- In the attic. A-An old c-chest...” Answered Dean obediently, every word he uttered seemed to hurt him. John squeezed his free hand in thanks, they really needed to get him out of here right now. 

“Sam I’m going to carry him to the car. Dean’s coat’s over there, grab the keys, get the guns and cover us.”

“I thought the spirit was gone?” Asked Sam as his father scooped his brother up carefully, trying not to hurt him further. A job that was almost impossible, considering how many wounds and injuries Dean had.

“I only banished her, she could come back at any time. So get a move on!” John barked at his youngest, not wanting anymore delays. He moved to the bottom of the stairs and waited for Sam to go in front of them.

They practically sprinted out of the house with Sam running ahead to open the impala.

“Sam, get in and pull him towards you.” Ordered John.

Sam clambered into the back set and retrieved his brother, wrapping two arms around him and resting his chin on top of his matted hair.

“I won’t be long I promise.” Said John suddenly, slamming the door behind him. Before Sam could argue, he was gone.

Dean was shaking badly and his breathing was hitched. Sam tried to shush him, even hum to him as tears ran freely down his face. He couldn't run in after him, he had to look after his brother. But what would he do if John didn't return? A mantra of ‘ _Dad Dad Dad Dad Dad Dad Dad Dad Dad_ ’ ran in his head constantly as he kept his eyes on the front door of the house.

Finally after what had felt like a lifetime of counting Dean's labored breaths their father appeared on the front lawn, and he was clutching something in his hand. John threw whatever it was to the ground, aggressively dosed it in lighter fluid and dropped a match onto it. He ran back to the car, not catching the demented woman stood at the attic window screaming as she burst into flames, only seeing the dim amber glow reflected in the windows of a house across the street. Sam gazed up towards the house just in time to see a skeletal hand go crashing through the circular window pane and point down towards John accusingly.

A faint yell of “Davey!” seemed to be ripped from her throat. 

And then finally, she was gone in an inferno of orange flames.

His father threw a blanket into the back seat that Sam immediately wrapped around his shivering brother. Dean’s condition was starting to deteriorate badly as they sped off into the night, blood was starting to stain the cloth already.

“It’s okay Dean, stay with me- you hear? Stay awake,” He murmured as Dean’s shivering started to stop and his body started to feel like dead weight. 

Dean’s eyes looked dangerously on the on the verge of rolling backwards into his head.

 

 

Sam felt like screaming.

 

 

* * * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trivia that I seem to add to everything: Dean's alias is the real name of the lead singer from Tool. And John's truck in the series is a GMC so I decided to give him the same make, but obviously an earlier model.
> 
> John's Latin incarnation translates to loosely to _"Spirit I cast you out hence forth, leave this place unsullied and free of your stain"_


	5. Chapter 5

The clinical nondescript feeling of hospitals annoyed Sam to no end. 

The same colors over and over. White. Teal. Blue. Cream. 

Pastel shades that the decorators obviously thought would be calming, like a sedative. Flowers painted on the children’s ward walls. Natural pine and white plastic. It was so ironic that they plastered these places in tranquil tones when the real paint that covers hospitals, which oozes from their superficial neutral pores, is blood red.

He was so tired of it. Tired of being in this position, each one of their roles swapped round every time. Dad in surgery. Dean getting stitches. Sam suffering from an infection. Broken bones, concussion, dislocated joints… Endless injures and predicaments so commonplace they’ve become routine. 

Sam knows the components of the ‘hospital smell”.

_Cool air conditioning, antiseptics, sterilization, detergent._

He knows why the gowns are so thin.

_So the doctor can hear the heart and the lungs clearly through the fabric, and so they dry quicker too._

Knows what the copper-like liquid is that they spread on patient’s skin before surgery.

_Betadine. A.K.A Povidone-iodine, a solution that sterilizes the skin and protects it from bacteria._

Sam knows because he asked, because he needed to know. His curiosity always shone through even in these serious situations. But he’s asked every question and discovered every secret in these places over his short 14 years on this earth. So now Sam sits and waits in silence, in white cube of a room which feels too familiar, sat in a pine chair upholstered with pale blue imitation leather which has split to reveal the molding sponge beneath.

And Dean lies in a drug induced coma next to him, with a machine breathing air into his lungs.

Five days have gone by since his brother’s birthday, clouded memories of Dean finally losing consciousness in the car and his chest refusing to rise as Sam screamed at his father drifted through his head. He didn’t even remember arriving at the hospital, only the weight of Dean’s body being lifted from him and then the frantic babbling that issued from his mouth that earned him a slap across the face. John’s dark unwavering eyes had then swam into view and he spoke to him in a voice that shook at the edges, _“Sam please, you need to keep it together. I can’t lose… I need you. Dean needs you.”_

But the older hunter wasn’t here right now. He had gone to deal with the authorities once more. It hadn’t gone unnoticed that Dean had arrived at hospital looking like he had been used as a carving block, especially when the doctors told them the extent of his injures which had basically left no part of his body untouched. He had required over 50 stitches, had 3 broken ribs along with a broken ankle, only one remaining fingernail on his left hand and seriously infected stab wounds inflicted with a blunt rusted knife. The police had arrived whilst Dean was in surgery to fix a collapsed lung and his punctured liver. Both he and his father had ordered them to leave, and the hospital staff agreed that this was not the best time. 

The next day they returned with apologies but they needed an explanation, so his father had come up with some story about Dean being on a road trip before his birthday and then sending out a SOS on Thursday, leading both him and Sam to find him in an abandoned warehouse. Considering it wasn’t that far from the truth the cops seemed to have swallowed it. However they kept hovering around waiting for Dean to wake up to question him in person, even though the nurses had told them that he was in a drug induced coma to help his body heal from the all the trauma and various injures he had endured. So John, who was already on edge and looking to take his anger out on something, had gone to tell them to leave them in peace until his son was conscious.

Sam, on the other hand, hadn’t left his brothers bedside. He sat with his hand entwined with Dean’s, originally his chair had been on the left side of the bed but Sam had moved it over to the opposite side as the 19 year old's left hand was all bandaged up and he didn’t want to hurt Dean any more than he had been hurt. Looking at his older brother’s injures made his blood boil and guilt rise in his stomach, he couldn’t believe they had left him in the hands of that psychopath of a ghost for so long. Just as tears started to threaten again, a nurse walked into the room.

“Hi Sam,” The nurse smiled at him, he couldn’t quite remember her name. _Was it Susie or Sophie? It was something falsely comforting and soft..._ She glanced round the room, “Where’s your dad?”

“Erm, out talking to the cops again I think.” Replied Sam, carefully tracking her movements as she checked over his brother. “How is he?”

“Good, he’s doing well. I know you and your dad didn’t want him put into an induced coma…” That was an understatement- they had nearly screamed the intensive care unit down, “But his head trauma was a big concern, not to mention his other injures. Hooking him up to a ventilator and an I.V takes the strain off his body and helps him to focus on healing.”

Sam hated the sympathetic look on her face, he resisted the urge to scowl at her, she mistook his scrunched up expression as a sign of incoming tears and she smiled that sympathetic smile again, “Dean’s made of strong stuff Honey. The Doctor will be in to assess him soon, we’ll see if we can get him awake again for you soon. After all, he needs to open his present.” She gestured towards Sam’s badly wrapped gift on the bedside table.

“Really?!?" Sam nearly shot out of his seat at the news, "You’re going to wake him?” 

“No promises.” The nurse winked and went to leave the room, just then John appeared at the door.

“What’s happened? Is everything okay?” Questioned John rapidly, his eyes darting from the nurse, to Sam and then to Dean.

“Everything is fine Mr. Daltery. I’ll let your son fill you in.” She reassured John as she slid past him and went on to finish her rounds.

John looked at his youngest with apprehension, “Sam?”

“They… They might be taking him out of the coma.” Sam replied quietly.

His father let out the breath he’d been holding in, “Thank God.” he murmured as he went to sit in the chair next to Sam, “It’s about time too” 

“How come you were gone for so long?” Sam inquired.

“Oh, I went back to that house to clean up and move my truck. Plus those piss-poor detectives all but pulled me in for an interview. As soon as Dean’s up we’re getting out of here before they can talk to him” Said John in a low voice, eyes darting around for stray nurses.

“But what if he’s not well enough to be moved?” Anger that was always seemed to boiling under the surface when Sam spoke to his father, no matter the situation, rose again.

“They’ve done most of the work Sam, if he’s not a hundred percent we can look after him. Wouldn’t you rather have Dean home?” John was fighting to keep his voice down.

“Don’t turn this on me, of course I want him out of here! But only when he’s well enough!”

The oldest Winchester looked up and shushed him, before Sam could retaliate he noticed the Doctor and Nurse Susie/Sophie heading towards the room. 

“Not arguing again are we?” Said the nurse an amused tone.

“Sorry it’s just been a stressful week.” John wiped a tired hand over his face.

“Oh there’s no need to apologize Mr. Daltery!” Backtracked the young nurse quickly, looking guilty, “We’re well aware that this has been hard on all of you, but maybe we’ll have some good news for you.”

“That would be a first.” Muttered the hunter.

Armed with a clipboard and pen the nurse wrote down various things as the doctor checked over Dean, both John and Sam held their breaths as they spoke quietly enough for them not to hear and nodded to each other.

“Well, it looks like we’re going to start pulling Dean out of his coma.” The middle-aged Doctor finally announced. John bowed his head in relief whilst Sam sat up straight away and started asking questions.

“How long till he’s awake?” Sam asked, his eyes boring into the doctors impassive face, making the middle aged man rather uncomfortable at the intensity of the younger boy's glare.

“Well we are going to withdraw the barbiturates that are keeping him in this state and he’ll gradually gain consciousness, but we don’t know how long it’ll take.” Answered the doctor as he adjusted his glasses.

“It differs from patient to patient Sam.” Nurse Susie/Sophie added kindly.

“Dean won’t take long.” Sam said, without a hint of doubt. 

  


And he was right. 

  


Two hours later Dean’s hand started to move sporadically in Sam’s, and only an hour later he opened his eyes. Dean acknowledged his father and brother with a sad smile and then drifted back off to sleep again. 

After Dean became more awake and aware, John started making arrangements for busting him out of the hospital. Sam pleaded with his father to let him stay longer but he quickly shot him down.

“We’ve been here for nearly six days, the cops are sniffing around and we’re using fake names and credit cards. Staying for longer would be trying our luck Sam and you know it.” John told his youngest son in weary tone.

“Dad’s right Sammy.” Murmured Dean, making them both jump as the weren't aware that Dean was awake and listening. Sam glanced his brother, who looked so beaten up and badly damaged and yet despite everything, still determined.

  


So Sam gave in.

  


  


  


#  **_______________________________________**

  


  


** 2 days later **

“Change the channel Sammy.” Ordered Dean as he crammed M&M’s into his mouth.

Instead of changing the TV Sam picked up the remote and turned it off, a second later he was hit in the eye with something small and round.

“Ow! What the hell was that?” Asked Sam, clutching his right eye.

“A blue M&M bitch, serves you right for switching off the TV. Oh and pass it back, I like the blue ones.”

“They all taste the same Dean, they’re all chocolate.” Sam forgot about his injury and rolled his eyes.

“Yeah whatever… Why’d you turn it off?” Garbled Dean through a mouthful of candy.

Sam looked out of the window where he swore he’d heard a car pull up, “I thought I head Dad coming back.” he muttered, then turned the TV back on for his brother.

They’d let Dean settle in and recuperate since getting him out of the hospital- which had been no easy task considering Dean had needed a wheelchair as he couldn't stand at all due to his broken ankle and overall level of exhaustion. Plus Sam had to find out what prescriptions he would need upon release from the staff without alerting suspicion. After a near run in with one of Dean’s doctors they finally escaped with enough medical equipment to help Dean recover from home. And both Sam and his father had agreed that eight days later was late enough. They were going to celebrate Dean’s birthday today.

John had gone out two hours ago to get dinner and Sam had told him to bring back a cake as well, the youngest Winchester had been on edge since he left and kept glancing at his battered up present that lay beneath the coffee table. Dean hadn’t noticed it as he was propped up on the sofa with every cushion they had watching terrible Soap Operas.

Sam glanced behind him when he heard another phantom car and upon turning back towards the TV his eyes caught a leather object lying on the counter. John had left his journal behind. It sat in it's usual state of disarray, paper poking out from every angle, the battered leather strap undone, almost as if it was inviting Sam to take a peak... Of course he'd read the thing before, albeit a long time ago, and that wasn't exactly a prized memory (finding out that monsters were real) so he hadn't read it since. However Sam remembered that his father had been writing in it the night before. He wondered if he had wrote about Dean's hunt as he was desperate to find out what had happened. Sam had tentatively asked Dean about it when they got him safely back to the apartment but he quickly shot him down, saying he wanted to forget about the whole thing, and Sam didn't really blame him. But still that didn't make him any less curious.

After very little deliberation he got up and headed towards the journal, Dean's grey circled eyes followed his movements and he finally spoke when Sam put a hand on the leather cover, "You're not supposed to look in there, Sammy." He said warningly.

"Well there's no other reading material and I'm sure as hell not watching another crappy telenovela. It's all in spanish, you have no clue what they're saying!"

"I get the general idea, just consider it a language lesson." Dean suggested, but he knew he was fighting a losing battle and he really didn't have the strength to argue, "Whatever. Do what you want." He muttered as turned back to TV and cranked the volume, as if it would somehow blot out what Sam was doing.

The younger boy took that as Dean's 'blessing' and carefully opened the journal, trying his hardest not to disturb any of the photographs and scraps of paper wedged into it's multiple pages. Doing his best not to linger on old hunts and various scribbled down lore, he turned to the latest entry...

  


**February 2:**

_Dean almost didn't make it. He was almost killed and it would have been my fault. I told him it was a cut-and-dry poltergeist case, gave him plenty of lore to go on, practically spelled it out for him, no other reason I'd let him go on his own. This was supposed to be some kind of rite of passage, maybe even my twisted up version of a birthday present. I wonder what other father's get their son's for their birthdays, a game console maybe... Certainly not something that earns them a medically induced coma._

_It was a spirit. It had Dean for days and all the while Sammy kept pestering me to go and find him, he'd promised to be back before his birthday and he'd stopped calling every night. That was against orders, and that alone should have been enough for me to shag ass to Warren... but I had to show a little faith didn't I? Had to give Dean a chance? But in the end it was his blind faith in me that got him hurt. Not just hurt,_ tourtured _. The nurses told me there was barely an inch of skin on him unharmed. And the spirit had had the nerve to plead with me, beg for_ 'Davey' _back. I returned the chest that Dean told me to burn when we found him in the basement, Sam argued of course but I had to make sure it wouldn't follow Dean. It wasn't the chest she was attached to, it was the 4 teeth that lay inside, surrounded by chamomile flowers, damiana leaves and carved hoodoo symbols. Someone had obviously wanted to keep that crazy bitch locked away, and I'm willing to bet it was Davey himself. Dean's research mentioned that the chest belonged to the first vic's grandfather, perhaps he killed her and set up that wooden box to contain her spirit. With those Hoodoo entrapment symbols and the use of chamomile for cleansing and damiana leaves to draw himself a new lover, he was thorough. But I couldn't risk the remains. I set those teeth alight in the front garden and sped off to the nearest hospital._

_May she rot in hell._

  


Sam closed the book and set it back down at the exact angle it had been left at previously. He sighed heavily, all the journal is ultimately is a record of their losses. And his father wrote each one down religiously, maybe to try and make sense of each little tragedy. But to Sam there was no sense to be found, just chaos, heartbreak and bad luck. Reading the leather-bound journal just gave the same sinking feeling it had 7 years ago. 

He returned to the worn-down sofa and sat beside his brother, whose eyes were drooping as he watched the Spanish actors on the small TV theatrically argue on a lavish open staircase. Sam was grateful at least, that Dean was still with them.

Half an hour later they heard a car approach.

“Is that Dad?” Asked Dean groggily, Sam simply got up and raced out the room “Hey, not fair two-legs! You can’t leave the cripple behind!” He yelled after his brother.

Sam made it outside in a flash. It _was_ their father, and he was struggling to unload the car.

“Hey Sammy, help me carry in the food would ya?” Greeted John as he handed two bags to Sam.

“What did you get?” 

“A little of everything, Chinese for dinner, more junk food for Dean, some painkillers…”

“You didn’t forget?” Sam asked skeptically.

“I didn’t." John closed the trunk and shook his head not knowing whether or not he should find it funny that Sam was worried he wouldn't remember, "It’s on the back seat, do you think he’ll like it?”

Sam peered into the Impala and spotted a white box with a cellophane window. The huge round cake inside was completely covered in jet black black fondant icing with “Happy Birthday Dean” piped in yellow and blue icing along the top, the middle was completely taken up with what looked like a sign with numbers written on it… Sam squinted a little and realized it was a license plate.

  


_The Impala’s license plate._

  


Tears welled up in his youngest sons eyes, he turned to look at his father and gave him a tired but thankful smile. 

  


  


“Yeah Dad, I think he’ll love it”

  


  


  


_* * * *_

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *****Edited recently because basically I can't leave my fics alone and after re-reading I always want to change aspects.*******
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! Especially those who hung around till the end ❤ - this was a long fic for me too!
> 
> I hate resolving chapters but some closure was **needed**. I'm not great at endings.
> 
> I'm don't have much medical knowledge so I hope it's correct, forgive me if it's not- I do research a lot to make sure it's accurate, so hopefully it's okay :)


End file.
